


A Hard Soul to Save

by purplevanity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplevanity/pseuds/purplevanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scholarship letter from King's Landing School of the Arts comes when she is seventeen, and that's when everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Soul to Save

It had been perfectly natural that his little sister would take ballet; from the very beginning she was so sweet and gentle and graceful that watching her during her first recital felt like watching Sansa at home – except slipped into a frilly tutu and point shoes. Every _arabesque_ was beautifully still and every _fouette ent tournant_ fluid and elegant. At the end of her number she received a standing ovation, and yet no one was prouder of her than Robb, who had been the one to pick her up after every class and go shopping with her for it when Mom was unavailable. It had been Robb who’d suggested she take it and Robb who’d encouraged her when she felt it was too much. And in the end, it was Robb she smiled at from the spotlight.

She was hailed as a prodigious talent afterwards, praise she would accept with a ducked head and a charming smile. Sansa Stark, future _prima donna_ of the industry. Even Arya thought she was “pretty cool.”

Their brother Bran, himself an aspiring dancer, started going to her classes to watch her. They would spend hours in her room watching routines and listening to passionate orchestras and singing along to soaring Italian arias. Their parents, themselves heirs to flourishing corporations who had less than passing interests in the performing arts, looked on with slightly confused but overflowing pride. And still there was Robb, the dutiful driver, the patient photographer, and the big brother.

The scholarship letter from King’s Landing School of the Arts comes when she is seventeen, and that’s when everything changes.

It’s not that Madame Mordane is unsupportive – on the contrary, Sansa’s aging, experienced teacher is more than enthusiastic, singing the school’s praises and assuring Mom and Dad that she would haunt them in the afterlife if they let a chance like this slip by.

It’s not that their parents don’t let her go – in fact they heed Madame Mordane’s advice swiftly, using their connections to get her a dormitory room in campus.

It’s not that any of their siblings are unhappy for her. Nothing like that. Bran, sweet, lovely Bran especially, had been so excited for her. No one had seen the bus coming.

Bran lives, but the nerves in his legs don’t, and Sansa – who’d spent a vigil at her brother’s bedside afterwards – is inconsolable. “I can’t leave him like this!” she yells when Dad, suddenly ten years older, tells her to start packing. It’s not until Bran himself smiles at her and tells her he’ll be okay and that he’ll never forgive her if she doesn’t go anyway that she gathers herself and her things, and Robb takes her place by his bedside and holds Bran’s hands and tries make himself believe that everything will be okay.

* * *

 

Robb, Bran, and Rickon see off Sansa, Arya, and Jon all at the same time – Sansa for New York, Arya for her exchange program abroad, and Jon off to join the army. He’s not surprised that their parents are too busy to do it, too.

His siblings all exchange hugs and Robb tries to tell himself that nothing’s going to change.

* * *

 

Arya and Jon email very often – Arya’s already made a friend, an heiress named Daenerys who’s living indefinitely in Spain, and that she’s considering taking up fencing. Jon himself isn’t doing too badly – his commanding officer is a _bitch_ , but the guys he’s with aren’t half-bad.

Sansa writes often at first – tells him how much she enjoys the New York lifestyle, tells him about the friends she’s made, and occasionally sends him pictures. He files these names and faces away for future use, just like he’s always done with Sansa. Lovely, savvy Margaery, theater. Her charming brother Loras, painting. Loras’s genial boyfriend Renly, film. Swarthy, sharp Arianne, journalism. Arianne’s brother Trystane, photography. Trystane’s gentle girlfriend Myrcella, writing. And finally Myrcella’s devastatingly beautiful brother Joffrey, dancing. Like Sansa.

Robb can tell his parents disapprove of his one-year deferral from Harvard, even if they don’t tell him – _it’s_ _Harvard_ , he hears Dad sigh to Mom, _he’s got a full ride and isn’t doing anything with it._

 _Give it time_ , Mom replies, holding a hand to her forehead. _Bran and Rickon need him right now, and he knows it_.

Robb wonders sometimes if their parents wished they were closer to their children.

Arya’s and Jon’s updates don’t stop but as the semester goes on, Sansa’s emails change. She stops talking about her favorite teachers and subjects and Alexander McQueen fashion shows, stops sending him selfies of her and Margaery backstage at Broadway and snippets of Arianne’s writing. For a while, they’re about Joffrey, how she met his mom and her idol, famous ballerina Cersei Lannister, he smiled back during Photography II and volunteered to be her dance partner for an assignment.

Then they dwindle.

Mom tells him it’s just Sansa being an adjusting college freshman, but Robb’s always trusted his gut instinct.

Then they stop altogether.

* * *

 

_“Robb, do you ever wish you weren’t the oldest sibling?” Sansa is five and already her blue eyes cannot get more adoring._

_“I’m not the oldest sibling, Sansa; Jon is,” he replies, but he does it with the characteristic prideful chest puff only an eight-year-old older brother can perform._

_“Yes,” Sansa replies, folding her hands in her lap. “But Jon’s technically our cousin, Robb, and you and Mr. Cassel and Nan are always watching over me and Arya and Bran.”_

_“Well, if you put it like that,” says Robb, “I guess I kind of like being the eldest. I like taking care of all of you. Kind of feels like it’s my job.”_

_Sansa’s smile grows wide. “So you’ll protect me and Arya and baby Bran forever and ever like big brothers are supposed to?”_

_“I promise. Just tell me if anybody makes you cry, and I’ll take care of them!”_

* * *

 

By Thanksgiving, Arya’s semester abroad is over and Jon’s on leave and Theon even comes down from Harvard, declaring that the Greyjoys weren’t the type for Thanksgiving celebrations and he’d rather spend time with his _real_ family anyway. It's nice having them come back; the house has been awfully quiet. None of them hear anything from Sansa, but their parents tell Arya to clean her room anyway in case she shows up.

The next time any of them see Sansa is the night before Thanksgiving; she turns up on their doorstep at nine twenty-eight in the evening, wrapped in a fur coat Robb hasn’t seen before, clutching a duffel bag clearly meant for a short stay.  

“Sansa,” their father says, almost surprised, after Robb leads her to the large sitting room on his arm. “We didn’t think you were coming home.”

Sansa smiles thinly, and bathed in the light from the fireplace she looks paler than Robb remembers. “Of course I was, sorry,” she says. _Sorry for not telling you anything at all._ “I just wasn’t sure if I could book an outgoing flight. So many people flying out of New York, you know.”

“Oh, darling, you could have told us,” says their mother, rising up to hug her. “We would have made arrangements. We could have sent Jory to get you –”

For a moment Sansa recoils, her eyes wide – it’s brief but Robb sees it, and he knows their mother does too, but his sister’s composure is flawless the next. “Yeah, sorry,” Sansa repeats. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“I’m sure Sansa’s just tired from the travel,” Robb cuts in. “I’ll take her up to her room.”

Sansa hugs him before she shuts the door in his face, and Arya tells him later Sansa didn’t talk to her at all.

* * *

 

_“Robb, what would you do if I got a boyfriend?”_

_“Sansa, you’re twelve. You’re too young to be thinking about boyfriends.”_

_Even her pout is stunning. “But you’re fifteen and Theon says you have a girlfriend! He says her name’s Jeyne and she’s really nice.”_

_“What? How did Theon – what?”_

_“So it’s true!” Sansa grins, wide and toothy. “Well, if you must know, I fully support you and Jeyne 100%! So because you’re my brother you have to do the same to me!”_

_“When the time comes, Sansa, when the time comes.”_

“ _But you_ will _do something about it if it turns out they’re unworthy of my hand, right? That’s what the princes do if their sister’s suitor isn’t worthy.”_

_Robb laughs. “Sure, little sister. Anything for you.”_

* * *

 

“Say, Sansa.”

The reply is slow to come. “Yes, Bran?”

“Tell me about your classes.”

Sansa looks at him, then, really looks at her little brother, eyes the wheelchair and the determined look on his face. Her face loses some of its tension and she begins to tell him about King’s Landing’s beautiful facilities – of the seven giant dancing rooms, of the high-technology locker rooms. She tells him about the variety of teachers that made up her schedule – “Renly’s brother Stannis teaches photography, and he complains that his brother outperforms him all the time.” “Mr. Varys teaches makeup. He’s quite the interesting teacher.”

“Is it true you’re taking lessons under Cersei Lannister?”

Robb watches her, watches the twitch of her fingers and the smoothness of her smile. “Yes. She’s very, very good. Her technique is absolutely flawless, and she’s also very beautiful.”

Bran smiles, satisfied.

“I hear that you’re friends with her children,” says Arya.

Sansa’s smile doesn’t move. “I am,” she says, her voice airy. “Her daughter Myrcella is your age, Arya, got into the school because she skipped a grade. Tommen is your age, Bran, I think you’d get along quite fine.”

“ _Quite fine_ ,” Arya mimics. “Is that how they talk in New York?”

A year ago Sansa would have snapped at her, but she just smiles. “Quite.”

“Her son Joffrey–” Pause. “Joffrey and I are dating.”

Arya’s eyebrows shoot upwards, Robb’s shoot downwards, and the rest of their siblings look like they don’t quite know how to react.

“ _Dating_ ,” says Jon.

“Dating,” cackles Theon.

“Yes, he’s very kind and from a well-connected family; I’m sure mother and father would approve.” She says it with little to no conviction, and that’s when the suspicion bubbles up in Robb’s throat.

“You’re sure he’s treating you right?”

Sansa’s eyes widen and in that moment Robb is aware of how thin her wrists are. “Yes, Robb. Why would you think otherwise?” 

**Author's Note:**

> For the ASOIAF kink meme, the prompt being:
> 
> "Modern AU. Sansa's ballet ambitions are dampened by her physically and emotionally abusive boyfriend. Meanwhile, no one cares who his parents are. If he can treat their sister like this, he can handle getting his ass kicked."


End file.
